


A Black Mile To The Surface

by Ottermelon



Category: Love Live! Sunshine!!
Genre: F/F, POV Second Person, actually sit down and act serious for once, the two meme queens
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-05-07 09:15:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14667957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ottermelon/pseuds/Ottermelon
Summary: What is a light to a fallen angel?





	A Black Mile To The Surface

**Author's Note:**

> So, what's a guy to do when he has two stories that haven't updated in five months? Does he:
> 
> A. Update the first story  
> B. Update the second story  
> C. Start a new story that will remain incomplete for who knows how long
> 
> I fervently mashed option C and this is the result. Also, in this story, Mari's lapses into English are denoted by brackets "[ ]." So, as an example:
> 
> "Look at how [bilingual] I am!" Mari exclaimed.
> 
> "bilingual" should be read in English, or in Mari-voice, if you will. Finally, to avoid unnecessary confusion, the character You Watanabe will be referred to as "Yō." This is done to distinguish "Yō" (as in "Watanabe") from "You" (as in "Yoshiko Tsushima"). 
> 
> It would be lovely if you enjoyed this story despite its prerequisites (and despite the fact that I have no idea what I'm doing).

You tilt your head a little as it rests on the palm of your hand. You’re staring out the window. This is the look you were going for: contemplative and just a little sad. Not sad enough to warrant concern, sad enough to look like you’re thinking about something important.

“Yoshiko-chan?”

The door the classroom slides open. Out of the corner of your eye, you see a girl standing at the threshold. You didn’t need to look; that voice is familiar enough to pull you out of deep-stage sleep. Instead, you turn back to the window, not acknowledging that you heard her. The sunset is all sorts of pink and orange, but you can’t bring yourself to enjoy it. _Not enough black,_ you think.

“Everyone else went home already.” Hanamaru ignores the fact that you are intent on ignoring her, and pulls a chair up next to yours. You are mildly irritated. “We should get going too, zura.”

You observe your friend’s tilted head, her hands placed over her lap, her curious eyes. Too curious. You thought that your pose emanated enough indifference, but you hadn’t accounted for the appearance of someone like Hanamaru, a kind soul who should go back to minding her own business.

She’s still staring at you, and you realize she’s waiting for a response of some sort. “Go on ahead without me,” you say. “I’ll catch up with you.” It’s a bit flimsy.

She frowns. You have a sudden urge to look away. “Why?” She looks you up and down and doesn’t try to hide it. You feel a couple drops of sweat beading on your forehead. Then, the kicker: “Is something on your mind, zura?”

Your eyes squeeze shut. You have one more shot at playing this off. Your grimace gives way to a grin, and you allow yourself some snickers for good measure. “Heh. As if worldly problems could ever bring Yohane down.” You pin Hanamaru to her seat with a half-lidded smirk. “A mortal like you wouldn’t understand my infernal plight.”

Hanamaru crosses her arms. Her own half-lidded gaze isn’t impressed. She says nothing.

You deflate. “A-although, it may not hurt to be a little more sympathetic of those ‘worldly problems.’ Sometimes.”

She brightens up immediately, and you think that in her own way, she can be frightening in a way that you will never emulate. You massage your temple, a gesture that’s part-irritation and part-contemplation. How should you word this? Hanamaru might poke fun at you either way, so you opt for the most direct approach.

“I’m questioning my fallen angel status.”

You sneak a glance at Hanamaru. She’s stock still, her eyes wide. “Zura? One more time, please.”

“I thought I was pretty clear,” you sigh.

“You were, and that’s what worries me.”

So you repeat yourself, and this time, Hanamaru almost leaps out of her chair, which clatters as she grasps one of your hands in hers. She says nothing, though; instead, she’s intent on prying at your fingers and pressing a hand to your forehead, her eyes scrutinizing you all the while.

You’re a little irked at the sudden invasion of your personal space. “What are you doing?” It’s the obvious question.

“I’m making sure you’re really Yoshiko-chan, zura.”

“It’s Yohane!”

You feel her hand relax against your forehead. “Oh, so it is you.” She plops down in her seat as though nothing had troubled her in the first place. “You really shocked me, saying something so outlandish, zura.”

You regard her in disbelief, resisting the urge to roll your eyes or otherwise express your disdain. “I’m serious, you know,” you say, keeping your voice as level as you can.

She shakes her head. Her hair sways back and forth. “I never thought I’d see the day, zura.”

“Don’t get the wrong idea. Nothing’s really changed.”

“Is that so…”

“Do you doubt me?” you intone in a dangerous whisper. “I can unleash hellfire on you at the snap of a finger!”

Hanamaru, unfazed as always, simply waves her hands in front of her face. “I’m fully convinced, zura. Please, go on.”

For your own sanity, you comply in a normal voice. “It’s an… odd situation. One that involves Mari.”

Her eyes light up. “Mari-chan?” She nods sagely. “That makes a lot of sense, zura.”

Too much sense, really. “Yeah. What do you think of her, Zuramaru?”

“Me?” She points to herself. You nod and try to stifle an eye-roll. _Who else?_

You tap your foot while she considers it. “For starters, she’s really something, zura.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice. Anything else come to mind?”

Her foot joins yours as they tap away, off-rhythm to each other. “Ah, I’ve got it. You know how Chika-chan always talks about how she wants to ‘shine?’ I think Mari-chan already does that, zura. Not in the way that Chika-chan wants to, though. It’s a different kind of ‘shine,’ zura.”

It’s a bit abstract, but you find yourself nodding all the same. “I… actually agree with that.” The fact that you and Hanamaru actually agree on something might indicate how unusual this Mari-situation is. “On top of that, she’s confusing as hell, no pun intended. I can’t figure her out.”

“But you haven’t really gotten to know her yet, have you?”

“That’s kinda where this whole thing started, actually…”

“Really, zura?” Hanamaru grins, in a way that you feel is unlike her. “You have my attention now.”

You decide to overlook her teasing smile, because despite her antics, Hanamaru _does_ possess the capability of serious thought and heartfelt advice. You wouldn’t be so willing to act the _boke_ to her _tsukkomi_ if you didn’t believe in her. “I’m surprised you’re taking this seriously.” _As seriously as you can,_ you add to yourself.

“Hmm… Dunno why. I feel like I should actually care this time, zura?” she tries, flashing you a toothy smile.

Most people would buy it, but that angelic smile isn’t doing much to conceal the implicative words beneath. “Somehow, I feel insulted.”

“I apologize if I offended you,” she recites. “Now, would you mind starting from the beginning, zura?”

You think about the first time you met her.

* * *

 

The first time you met Mari Ohara, she was loud. Bright. Annoying. Her voice lanced through your head like a single ray of sunshine, flitting through the blinds while you were still trying to sleep. She was far too touchy.

She wasn’t afraid to be herself.

In that single way, she was kind of like you. But in every other way, she was not.

Your… “quirks” tended to distance yourself from others. Her quirks drew people to her.

At the very least, _you_ were drawn to her. Ironically so, because you knew that she was _unattainable_. You don’t use that word liberally - only in the context of you and your relation to beings of luminous brilliance. It’s a fairly strict category, but Mari fits it to a T.

You recall the ancient Greek tale of Icarus. It’s probably relevant to you, in some way. Thinking in these terms, you’re Icarus and she’s the sun. Which would imply that you’re drawn to her, dangerous as she is to everything you are.

You’re certainly drawn to her, you freely admit. Is that dangerous? You’re still not sure.

You wonder if she’s lonely. She’s surrounded by Kanan and Dia, and the others, but you still wonder if she’s lonely, because her radiance is blinding.

* * *

 

Mari’s at practice one day, except she’s not practicing. She seems content to watch the others chat and stretch. It’s less innocuous as more time goes by; ten minutes pass and she’s still there, on the outskirts.

That issue of loneliness surfaces in your mind, and your eyebrows knit in sympathy. You watch her watch the other. She doesn’t notice you staring - or she does, but she chooses not to acknowledge it. You’ve seen that look before. It doesn’t make sense, at least on first glance - she’s as much a part of Aqours as you or Chika or anyone else. There’s no reason for her to wear that expression.

Then again, you can’t really know unless you ask her.

Your concern wins out. You approach her, and her distant gaze disappears as she notices you, but she doesn’t otherwise move. “What’s up?” you ask. “Not gonna stretch?”

“Oh, I will.” she waves a hand in your face. “You’re not waiting for me, are you?”

You ignore that last part. “What are you doing?”

She shrugs. “It’s just that… I wanted to take in this picture. [Soak] in it, if you will.”

“We’re just stretching.”

“I don’t think anything we do as Aqours, from here on out, is ‘just’ anything.”

Your complete and thorough confusion must have shown on your face, because she takes a look at you and frowns. “Sorry, is that weird? I just thought you’d understand.”

“Me?” How did this become about you? “Why?”

She turns to face you fully, yet she seems almost shy, and you want to say something if only to get her to snap out of this strange trance. This doesn’t seem like her: quiet, contemplative, introspective. That’s not the Mari you’ve seen up until now.

“I just have that [intuition]!” she declares suddenly, making you jump. Her arm is slung around your shoulder. The moment is gone, the others are looking at the two of you while her laugh echoes across the rooftop.

The answer bothers you, and it’s not until later that you realize why. It was dodgy, like she wanted to say something else but decided against it at the last second.

You’re all too familiar with evasion, after all, and your interest in her only grows from then on.

* * *

 

“I want to do something for her,” you say.

Hanamaru has a hand to her chin. She looks thoughtful, and you can only hope it’s not a mere appearance. “Is that why you’re questioning your status?”

You waver. After avoiding her gaze for a few moments, you say: “Kind of? That and the whole ‘questioning’ thing are kinda related.”

“How so?”

“I’m getting to that.”

* * *

 

You’ve always believed in fate, of course. It was your fate to fall. You’ve thought about the role of fate in Aqours coming together.

And so, it must be fate that you two wind up alone in the club room after school.

It’s only fitting that this situation was out of your control, more or less. You had shown up to the club room early to find Mari, Yō, and Ruby poring over a sketchbook, discussing costume ideas. The latter two had disappeared at some point, citing reasons that passed over your head: best friends, doting sisters. Whatever the cause, you and Mari sit on opposite sides of the lone table. She’s handling the sketchbook while you pretend to busy yourself with a missed assignment, which remains blank until now.

You curse your own silence, because this is a rare opportunity to explore what you had only glimpsed during your last interaction with her. Long stretches of silence, almost-cryptic words exchanged? It was so unlike her… and yet you’re hardly sure of even this claim. You’re gripped by a desire to understand her, but the fact is that you don’t know what’s “like” or “unlike” her at this point.

Of course, if you want to pick her apart, she has to cooperate, and judging by the grand total of zero words spoken since the two of you were left alone, it may not be as easy as you’d like.

You’ve doodled in the margins of your homework for quite some time when she breaks the silence.

“Yoshiko.”

“Hm?” You’re so surprised that you don’t correct her.

“What do you think of this concept?” She holds up the sketchbook for you to see. A pencil-sketch version of Chika is there wearing a frilly dress. It’s not colored in, and you don’t think you’re the best source to consult on this style anyway. Still, it’s cute.

“It’s alright,” you say, shrugging. You think she’s asking only to fill the silence of the clubroom. “Not really my style.” You turn towards your bag, intent on searching it for the very same assignment that lies on the desk.

“Not enough black, right?” Her voice lilts upward, bringing your head up with it. You lock eyes. She holds two fingers up to her face. What’s more striking is her mischievous grin.

“Wh-what are you doing?” you stammer.

“What?” Her hand drops, and a frown takes shape on her face. “Not a fan? I’m not [stealing] your [shtick], don’t worry.”

“It’s not a shtick!”

“Hmm…” She studies you, and you shrink in your chair. “Oh, could it be that I do it better than you?”

“That’s not possible.” To prove your point, you brandish a black feather that you’d produced from nowhere and stick it in your hair. “Your big talk is foolish, for you seem to underestimate my dark powers.” You match her pose, which was really _your_ pose to begin with. “All of you are _my_ little demons. Not the other way around.”

“You need to back up your own talk,” she smirks. “I don’t feel particularly [devilish] at the moment. Are you really as good of a teacher as you say?”

“You’ll pay dearly for underestimating me! If it’s a lesson you want -”

You’re cut short by a breezy set of bells sounding from Mari’s skirt pocket. “Ah, sorry.” Her playful smirk vanishes as she fishes for her phone. “[Hello?] Yō? Ah, you had to go home? Don’t worry, your sketchbook’s in [good hands]!”

You watch her gesture animatedly as the conversation continues. You might be more affected by her cheeriness than Yō, because she’s here, her voice unfiltered. Your smirk fades as you weigh this observed conversation against the little banter you had just moments ago. Now, it seems unnatural in the face of her unbridled laughter and the bounce in her voice.

 _It doesn’t suit you_.

After hanging up, she returns to her work instead of pursuing your previous line of exchange. You take the hint and scroll through your phone. From the occasional glance that you steal, though, her eyes still glimmer. You wonder what’s running through her mind. It doesn’t take you long to find out.

“Hey, Yoshiko - ”

“It’s Yohane.”

“Yohane.” She hardly misses a beat. “Do you mind if I ask you something [personal]?”

“Depends on what that is.”

“To put it bluntly, I’m [interested] in you.”

You don’t hide your surprise. “...What?” You stare at her, and she stares back, all smiles and curiosity. She’s not backing down. “Why?”

She shrugs. It’s flippant. “Because you’re an interesting person. Is that so strange?”

Again, her answer is vague. You peer at her for a moment longer before dropping the thought. It might not be too bad to entertain her like this. “I suppose not. What would you like to know?” You’re expecting an inquiry about your fallen angel status, since that’s the most obvious route of questioning.

Mari follows up accordingly. “Does it bother you that we’re trying to shine? Since, you know, you’re [fallen] and all.”

You search her for any signs of teasing or mischief, but her ubiquitous smirk is gone. She’s serious. You feel compelled to answer seriously. “I haven’t thought about it much.”

It’s the truth. Chika had offered you the rarest of opportunities: to be yourself while still pursuing the decorous high school life that you had preemptively dismissed as unattainable. You’d been so relieved at not having to fight yourself that you never considered the implications of the endgame. Chika’s ultimate, simple goal: to shine.

“I imagine it’s an odd situation to be in,” Mari continues. She leans back, flipping Yō’s sketchbook face-down. Her attention is on you now. “It might even save you.”

 _Save._ Again, you’re caught off-guard. No one you’ve known has ever brought up that word around you: not Hanamaru, not your middle-school classmates who kept their distance from you, not your late-night stream-watchers. You manage a disbelieving “What?” in response.

“This whole Aqours thing, bringing you back into the light. It invokes that sort of [imagery], don’t you think?” She makes a tiny arc with her right hand. You’re not exactly sure what she’s going for - perhaps it’s an arc of light. Or something.

“Are you talking about redemption? That’s not possible. Angels cast down from heaven don’t get a second chance.”

She spreads her arms, indicating the clubroom. “And yet, here we are.”

“I don’t buy it,” you huff. “I’m here to recruit more little demons into my fold. I’ve told you that already, haven’t I?”

“Well, aren’t you curious? What if you were meant to take a different path?”

There it is again. Fate. She’s only hinting at it, but the implication is clear as day to you.

“Think about it,” she continues. “This could be your own [side story]! A [redemption arc]! Yohane, the fallen angel, has only ever known a world of darkness.” She makes a grand, sweeping gesture with her hands. You’re a little worried that she might fall out of her chair. “Then, one day, a ray of light from the heavens! A hand of pure light reaches out to her: the hand of an [angel]! She’s afraid, but something in her heart says -”

“Hang on.” You hold up your hand, and she pauses just as the cadence of her voice was cresting over into its climax. “Who’s the angel in this case?”

“Me, of course,” she says naturally. “Aren’t I helping you [discover] these things?”

You want to protest. This whole thing sounds like a cheesy movie. A “redemption arc?” You scoff at the notion. You don black capes for a living and stick black feathers in your hair. You’ve made your home in the underworld. Theoretically, light should burn your eyes. It should be dangerous, and you should avoid direct exposure to it at all times.

And yet, you’d be lying if you claimed that you weren’t curious. There’s an implication here, between you and her. A secret, if you would. A promise, if you wanted to stray into the territory of overthinking.

This may be your opportunity to understand her better.

You nod.

Her grin is genuine and wide and infectious. “Don’t worry, this is our [secret]. You’re no less of a fallen angel for now. But I get to be your sunshine.” She winks and sticks her tongue out at you.

The last part was an obvious joke. She’s giggling now, caught up in her own tomfoolery, not a hint of a blush on her face. You’re staring. Something in the back of your mind tells you that it would be bad if she caught you gaping at her like this.

What is a light to a fallen angel?

* * *

 

It is this very question that you now pose to Hanamaru, only half-expecting her to take it seriously. You decide to omit the details of your… _promise_ with Mari, cheesy movie plot and all. She said it’s your secret, between you and her alone, and you’re intent on honoring that.

Hanamaru gives you a dubious look. “Shouldn’t you know? You’re the fallen angel expert, zura.”

“I never said I was a _genius_ fallen angel.” _Or even a smart one._

She presses a finger to her temple. You hope she’s putting some genuine thought into this, for her sake. “If I had to guess, a light would be a fallen angel’s antithesis, of sorts?”

You blink, but the sentence doesn’t transfigure into a coherent string of words like you hoped. “Smaller words, please.”

“An antithesis is an exact opposite. So, if you’re a fallen angel, then a light is everything that you’re not. Where you’d call yourself a black hole of despair, she’s like a shining beacon. Where you’re cursed with bad luck, she’s been touched by a divine grace.” She looks up and seems to realize that she’s indulged herself in her description, because she shrugs and adds: “Something like that, zura.”

“We’re talking about light here,” you say, narrowing your eyes. “The abstract concept of light.”

“Right.”

“Not a person.”

“Of course, zura.”

“And we’re _definitely_ not talking about Mari.”

“Never crossed my mind.”

You sigh, but you admit that Hanamaru has given you more food for thought. _An antithesis?_ It sounds like a hero-villain sort of dynamic, but that’s not quite how you see the whole situation.

You recall a particular image that Mari instigated: you, wrapped up in your cloak as a blinding brilliance appears from the skies. She’s arrived to take you away. Whether that entails your salvation or something far more damning, you’re not sure.

Dangerous, yet exciting. You could get used to this.

**Author's Note:**

> A "boke" and "tsukkomi" are a comedy duo comprised of an idiot and a straight man, respectively. It's not exactly a one-for-one comparison to Yoshiko and Hanamaru, but their dynamic does recall that one, in my opinion.


End file.
